


red means stop (no trespassing into my heart)

by seunghyuk (orphan_account)



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: College!AU, M/M, because i'm soft for jihoon in the pink turtleneck sweater, cheat slowburn? fake slowburn? you’ll see, diet slowburn if you will, jihoon's pink turtleneck sweater, lapslock, mentioned dongpaca, mentioned jinhwi, non-linear elements, possibly wildly inaccurate characterizations, slowburn, this is so pg they don’t even kiss because i’m a loser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:12:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/seunghyuk
Summary: in alternative kind of meet cute situation, woojin knocks out jihoon with a traffic sign.(or: park woojin and park jihoon, a year in the making.)





	red means stop (no trespassing into my heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lazingcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazingcat/gifts).



> ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* merry christmas! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> this was both fun and a challenge to write! i’m not very used to writing slowburn and i had some time constraints so i’m sorry if i didn’t really fulfil the prompt in that respect. i hope you enjoy it either way! ♡ 
> 
> all the characters are aged up or down by however much it takes for this to make sense

**(nov)**

in an alternative kind of meet cute situation, woojin knocks out jihoon with a traffic sign.

it doesn’t go down without a fight – there’s a loud yell from woojin, a chortled screech on jihoon’s side. cue the traffic sign coming into a contact with jihoon’s shoulder with a muffled thud, closely followed by another one as jihoon hits the ground, arms barely bracing the impact. a second of silence in which woojin stands, one hand clutching the traffic sign to his chest while the other one comes up to cover his mouth that falls wide open in shock as the situation begins to register in his clouded mind.

clash. clatter.

  
the rest is history.

  
–

  
in woojin’s defense, there’s a number of factors leading up to this that he argues hadn’t _exactly_ been within his realm of influence:

  
1.

college comes in a flurry of autumn foliage that whisks him away to faraway shores and leaves him stranded amidst a bustling city whose taste weighs heavy and bitter on his tongue. it’s a sentiment that speaks less of unfamiliarity than it does of a lingering sense of antipathy towards seoul – by all means, woojin knows it too: the faintly expanding excitement in his chest as he stands amidst busy streets and feels his pulse racing along, the fluttering of new chances against his ribcage;

but.

seoul is so empty.

  
this is why, on this particular saturday night, woojin doesn’t find it in him to fight daehwi’s whole-hearted efforts to forcefully drag him out of his dorm.

hyungseob doesn’t even bat an eye when daehwi comes barging through their unlocked door at 10pm sharp and makes a beeline for woojin’s desk, hauling woojin off his chair with a kind of strength woojin wasn’t even aware he possessed. for a split second, woojin considers fighting back – if he lightly kicks daehwi in the shin and then proceeds to sullenly lament over the growing workload that had made itself apparent on his cluttered desk, daehwi would have no choice but to give in and let him sulk in peace sooner or later. it’s a tempting option; the warmth of his two blankets all too inviting, even despite the opened psychological statistics textbook he’d abandoned on his pillow earlier; but when his gaze falls over daehwi’s shoulder to find youngmin and donghyun lingering in the doorway, he knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

it barely comes as a surprise then, that when he finally resigns himself to daehwi’s manhandling with an exasperated sigh, hyungseob springs up from where he’d previously become one with his mattress to reveal himself suspiciously clad in full outside attire already, wielding a cheap party hat in one hand and a plastic bag full of confetti in the other that he promptly empties over woojin’s head. but – whatever, woojin thinks; the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as both daehwi and hyungseob push him towards the door – if hyungseob makes sure to pick every single piece of confetti off their carpet later, then; sure. fun times and all.

youngmin and donghyun’s congratulations are considerably less exuberant. youngmin gives him a warm smile and ruffles his hair fondly before pulling him into a tight hug. donghyun follows suit, wrapping his arms around both him and youngmin, head coming to rest atop of woojin’s. and when daehwi finally piles himself onto the three of them with more vigor than woojin would’ve preferred, possibly pushing woojin to the brink of suffocation in the process; then. maybe woojin had seen it coming already. this wasn’t such a bad idea after all, woojin thinks, a small smile blooming against the soft fabric of youngmin’s plaid shirt despite his slight need for air. besides – youngmin’s cologne doesn’t smell half bad.

(hyungseob busies himself with sprinkling the remaining pieces of confetti over their heads while singing a slightly off-tune rendition of happy birthday. woojin’s sure that they’re going to attract more than a few bystanders at this rate; thinks that he can hear a door creaking open somewhere behind them; but he doesn’t find it in him to tell hyungseob to stop. whatever. he’ll just let hyungseob handle the noise complaints. it wouldn’t be the first time, after all.)

  
2.

under a blanket of false safety, woojin is ushered into youngmin’s car. the atmosphere is light, laughter ringing through the rolled down windows out into the chilly seoul night. the cold wind brushes woojin’s arms that are merely clad in a thin leather jacket he’d managed to grab off his chair, but he barely feels it – in fact, he doesn’t think he’s felt quite this warm in a while, heart beating away contently in his chest as he listens to donghyun’s enthusiastic recollection of his latest dog encounter.

it is this sense of quiet happiness that distracts him from questioning exactly where his friends are taking him. earlier when they’d left campus, he’d simply assumed that they were going for a food run – something fancier than the mcdonald’s down the street from his dorm complex, maybe; a picnic by the han river – and left it at that, opting to assert his right to control the music instead.

that’s why he’s a little taken aback when youngmin parks the car in front of an unfamiliar house. before he can turn around to ask questions, hyungseob’s pushing him onto the pristine sidewalk and clambering out after him, followed by daehwi who immediately goes to drag him in the direction of the gate. woojin lets himself be pulled along, albeit hesitantly, eyes passing over the neatly groomed hedge and carefully laid out garden to land on the sleek façade of the house.

“whose house is this?” he finally manages to voice out after daehwi comes to a halt on the doorstep. even the front door looks expensive, woojin notes, gaze falling on his faint reflection in the milky glass while daehwi repeatedly jabs his finger into the doorbell next to him.

donghyun pushes past them a moment later, keychain dangling from his hand. he gives woojin a smile, eyes twinkling mischievously. then, as he turns to unlock the door, he says:

  
“mine.”

  
3.

the fleeting sense of relief that washes over woojin dissipates when he steps into the hallway to find daniel brandishing a bright red stop sign.

“oh!” daniel exclaims when he spots woojin, face lighting up with excitement. he waves at him, stop sign and all, and narrowly avoids knocking over a vase. behind him, woojin hears a quiet shriek.

(serves donghyun right for donating his house to this catastrophic attempt at nudging him out of his comfort zone, he thinks.)

“happy birthday!” daniel steps closer to him, arms coming up for a hug. woojin lets daniel pull him closer for a brief moment, twisting himself away just a little to evade the swinging stop sign.

“here,” daniel says proudly and presents the sign to woojin, “i found this on the street earlier and it reminded me of you. i hope you like it.” he grins at woojin, a wide but lopsided display of his teeth and –

yeah, okay. maybe it’s a little funny.

  
4.

the rest of the night goes down like this:

woojin recognizes about fifteen people at his own birthday party. seongwoo is the first one to push himself through the crowd and give him a clumsy hug, followed by minhyun and jaehwan. frankly, jaehwan doesn’t actually do much – he looks at woojin, eyes trailing down to the stop sign in his hand, and laughs; a loud burst of sound that startles minhyun so much, he nearly drops his cup. then he gives him a short pat on the shoulder and walks away. woojin appreciates the sentiment.

the next hour is spent wandering around, accepting a plethora of overenthusiastic birthday wishes. woojin smiles politely at most of them; engages in small talk with familiar faces that he can’t quite place once or twice. at some point he lets himself be pulled into a heated discussion about the impact of chaebol dominance on south korea’s social structure and leaves with a headache and the excuse that he needs to greet bae jinyoung, despite never having talked to him before.

  
youngmin finds him just before the clock strikes midnight.

“woojin!” he yells over the loud booming of donghyun’s expensive stereo system. he weaves himself through the crowd and wraps his arm around woojin’s shoulder loosely. “how are you liking it?”

woojin grins hesitantly. it probably looks like a grimace to youngmin, he’s aware – really, it’s not like he doesn’t appreciate the thought behind this. and for all it’s worth, he _has_ been enjoying himself, even despite the low sense of discomfort buzzing underneath his skin. this just isn’t his scene. that’s all.

“oh woojinie,” youngmin sighs warmly, hand coming up to ruffle his hair, “tomorrow we’re taking you out for dinner, okay? just us four and hyungseob.” woojin nods eagerly, mouth opening to assure youngmin that he’s grateful but youngmin just smiles dismissively and ushers him into the kitchen.

  
at 11:45pm, donghyun brings out a cake. it’s slathered in white buttercream, decorated with loopy writing wishing woojin a _happy birtday_ and missing half a corner. when woojin raises his eyebrow in question, donghyun points at hyungseob who gives him an apologetic grin and two thumbs up. woojin laughs. of course.

at 11:50pm, woojin blows out the single candle that has suspiciously been placed right on the _birtday._ people cheer and woojin smiles warmly – he knows that most of them probably couldn’t care less for his birthday but, hey. it isn’t a bad sight. maybe he could get used to this someday.

at 12:00am, woojin feels a slow bout of loneliness rising in his chest. most of the people have trickled out of the kitchen, leaving only him and hyungseob who’s wrapped up in a conversation with seunghyuk from down the hall and two other people he doesn’t recognize. donghyun had flashed him an encouraging smile before dragging youngmin in the direction of the hallway. woojin doesn’t even want to know.

it’s a familiar feeling; not unlike his antipathy towards seoul – a faint emptiness that settles in his heart, rings through his chest quietly. it isn’t as much as saddening as it is annoying, a low humming in his ears that he can’t get rid of; wouldn’t be able to get rid of even if he shamelessly intruded on hyungseob’s conversation, he knows. (it still makes him sad, despite his refusal to acknowledge it – weighs down on him, a constant sinking feeling that pushes him into brooding silence, despite his will to break out of it.

woojin doesn’t know what to do about it.)

so perhaps it comes more as a blessing than a curse then, that daehwi choses this exact moment to come barreling into the kitchen with bae jinyoung in tow. “hyung!” he calls and promptly grabs woojin by the hand to pull him out of the kitchen, “we need more people for this game and you look sad, so you’re playing now.”

okay. so maybe he’s been underestimating just how easily his face mirrors the slightest change in his mood. and maybe he’d promised himself earlier to stay away from the alcohol because he has an 8am class tomorrow that he can’t afford to zone out of – but. daehwi’s grip on his hand is strong, the determination with which he’s pulling him along even stronger. and woojin is so terribly sad.

whatever. he’ll be fine.

  
5.

woojin admits it might not have been the best idea to convince youngmin to drop hyungseob and him off at the supermarket down the street from their dorm.

it isn’t much of a bad idea at all, initially – they’ve been out of basic necessities for two days now and he knows that both of them are going to put it off until they’re forced to ask seunghyuk to mercifully donate a bottle of water and a packet of ramyun, if he’s feeling extra generous. besides, both him and hyungseob are barely drunk – just enough for their voices to cut through the silence of the night a little louder than usual, for his satoori to bleed through a little more frequently, maybe. and really, how hard can it be to brave the simple task of picking up the right brand of cheap soap and tossing it into a shopping basket?

not that hard, he’s sure.

  
this is how woojin finds himself walking back to their dorm at 3am, traffic sign under his arm and a bag full of groceries in his hand. alone. hyungseob had abandoned him about two minutes into his stock up on snacks and reappeared at the cash register five minutes later, engaged in deep conversation with the cashier. when woojin had attempted to pull him along after paying, hyungseob had simply brushed off his hand and grinned at him, signaling woojin to leave without him.

fine, then.

(frankly, woojin isn’t sure if things would’ve made a dramatic turn for the better with hyungseob at his side. the longer he thinks about, actually, the more he’s convinced that hyungseob’s presence would’ve just enabled his irrational fears – but;)

  
here’s how it unfolds:

woojin is rounding a corner when he runs, grocery bag first, into a figure just shorter than him. the bag falls to the ground, its contents spilling out onto the street. woojin panics briefly as he watches one of his two water bottles make its way downhill but averts his attention back to the person he’d collided with when he feels a light pressure on his shoulder . except – and this is arguably where it had gone wrong – what he finds is a sickly pale face, an overdrawn red smile and hollow shadows spilling over dirty white cheeks.

perhaps it is the alcohol that distorts woojin’s rationality, but in this moment a flurry of things flash before his eyes: a fast motion of scenes from the horror movie hyungseob had made him watch on halloween; a vague memory of that one time he’d gone trick and treating with his older cousin when he was five and run into a clown brandishing a running chainsaw that sent him sprinting down the street, calling out for his mother.

woojin yells. the stop sign suddenly feels a lot lighter in his hand.

  
the rest is history.

 

( **seob [03:37]**  
theres a bunch of groceries lying around on the street

 **seob [03:37]**  
are those ours

 **woojin [03:38]**  
yeah

 **seob [03:38]**  
?

 **seob [03:38]**  
dude

 

 **woojin [03:40]**  
just pick them up will you

**woojin [03:59]**  
can you get arrested for hitting sb with a traffic sign?

 **woojin [04:01]**  
asking for a friend)

 

 

* * *

 

 

**(jan)**

park jihoon doesn’t consider himself a particularly interesting person.

sure – he might have the enigma act going for him; is both pretty and pretty reserved enough for his missing presence in the public eye to draw people’s interest on him – but when it really comes down to it, all his party stories boil down to his background as a child actor, his mismatched shoelaces and that one time he got roped into stepping in as a party clown and subsequently was knocked out by a guy with a stop sign. or something.

about that.

jihoon isn’t sure which one of his idiot friends brings it up first. it’s a casual friday night and he’s sitting on a stranger’s carpet, head dangerously close to where jinyoung’s feet are dangling from the couch, swinging in and out of his peripheral vision. frankly, part of him would rather be holed up in his room playing games all night to distract himself from the three essays he should be working on, but donghan had come knocking at his door to pick up yongguk and somehow dragged along jihoon in the process.

all in all, jihoon hasn’t come to regret it yet. it’s a strange round of people he finds sitting around the coffee table, he thinks – donghan and yongguk flanking his right, talking to a tall stranger he’s seen by donghan’s side more often than not; jinyoung and his swinging leg just behind him, squashed inbetween lee daehwi and im youngmin; two strangers on the other side of the coffee table, discussing different types of cheese with im youngmin’s boyfriend jihoon only knows because he’d accidentally run into them being disgustingly cheesy in the kitchen earlier.

cheesy. haha.

still – it’s nice, he supposes. maybe it’s the pleasant buzz of the beer he’s nursing or the softness of the carpet, but jihoon finds himself slipping into lose conversation easily, making short remarks despite his initial hesitance. yes, kraft’s cheese may be processed but it tastes damn good, thank you very much. professor shim? yeah, he sucks. so does corporate dominance, he agrees. and social expectations should be demolished, indeed. don’t take his word for that, actually.

it’s cozy – sitting under the dim yellow light of a strange living room, talking with no strings attached, expectations low enough for jihoon to forget his words the moment they leave his mouth. the more he talks, he thinks, the easier he blends into the soft chatter, the dusty cream of the carpet beneath him as he sinks further against the couch – the less attention he draws to him and his thoughtless words; merely half a stranger sitting against a stranger’s couch in a place no one really invited him to in the first place. good, he thinks. he’s having a good time. and balloon animals? of course he knows how to make those, donghan.

why?

of course it’s donghan who brings it up first.

jihoon should’ve seen it coming, really – there’s a total of two of his idiot friends at this small get-together, and one of them is being idiotic in his very own right, dark eyes boring themselves into the back of lee daehwi’s head. and donghan – he’d always been a little too delighted at the mention of jihoon getting hit with a traffic sign. sadist.

to jihoon’s dismay, donghan’s question draws all eyes on him. he doesn’t quite understand what’s so intriguing about the ability to tie balloons into animals, but maybe it’s just the way donghan has his head propped up on his hand, eyes fixed on him intently, a saccharine smile painted on his face. jihoon can feel the vaguely sadistic glee radiating off of him from three meters away. love you too, donghan.

  
and so it goes. jihoon has learned to tell his story in lazy sentences that trail off midways; diet ellipses if you will – the type of construction he frequents in the half-hearted notes he takes during his 8am media ethics class; when he’s just past tipsy, too, a little like right now perhaps.

so:

hyeop corners him one day. “remember that favor you owe me?” he says, or something like that. jihoon does not, in fact, remember that favor he owes him. it doesn’t matter anyway, because hyeop has a killer pout and a little sister whose birthday party will be ruined if jihoon doesn’t put on this clown costume and make a fool of himself. jihoon doesn’t have it in him to say no, even if he glares at hyeop for ten seconds straight. and maybe he thinks it’s a little funny, too.

(the balloon animals are a nice touch. hyeop doesn’t actually insist on it, but jihoon thinks he might as well; in his bright yellow and red striped shirt that’s three sizes too big on him. so he makes hyeop pay for a party sized pack of balloons and pulls up five tutorials on his laptop. when yongguk comes home that evening, it’s to a plethora of vaguely animal-shaped balloons sitting on jihoon’s bed; the floor littered with colorful scraps of rubber. needless to say, he foregoes the sceptic comment and slinks back out without a sound.

jihoon doesn’t even notice.)

it isn’t until jihoon gets to the part about turning a corner and running into a possibly drunk guy with a traffic sign in his hand, that he receives a reaction stronger than bemused smiling; the occasional chuckle at his questionable decisions (, donghan’s wide grin).

“so i turn a corner; run into this guy,” jihoon says with practiced esprit, “he drops his groceries and i tap him on the shoulder to apologize.”

“he turns to face me, freezes, then goes: ‘ _AAH_!’. i, too, go: ‘ _AAH_!’. next thing i know, he’s swinging a fucking stop sign at me. then –”

daehwi goes: “wait.”

  
“ _you_ ’re the guy woojin-hyung knocked out with a stop sign?!”

 

(“woojin did _what_?” youngmin and donghyun exclaim simultaneously. daehwi jolts up in surprise, effectively sending jinyoung off balance. yeah, jihoon echoes in mind, _woojin_ did what? jinyoung flails, legs moving about wildly.

smack.

his right foot hits jihoon square in the face.

“the night of his birthday? after you dropped him off at the supermarket,” daehwi explains, uncaring of the commotion taking place at his feet.

jihoon groans in pain, hands coming up to clutch at his face dramatically. “this!” he yells and points his finger at jinyoung accusingly, “is why we can’t be friends bae jinyoung!”. jinyoung gasps in mock-indignation.

  
in the background, donghan laughs.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(mar)**

park woojin has a cute face, an even cuter smile and a snaggletooth. he’s also a dancer.

jihoon is in love.

  
to jihoon’s surprise, it’s jisung who brings it up first.

“jihoonie,” he says over dinner one night. jihoon doesn’t remember how he ended up eating dinner with jisung in the first place, but he isn’t about to complain. “hmpf?” jihoon responds, still chewing on the remainders of his chicken cartilage. jisung scoffs quietly, but doesn’t say anything about his lack of manners.

“i understand that you think park woojin is cute, but don’t you think you’re taking it a little too far?”

  
jihoon chokes on his chicken.

  
-

  
(it must’ve gone a little something like this, jihoon supposes:

  
1.

yongguk catches him running into a glass door on monday. jihoon knows because when he returns to the dorm that afternoon, his favorite sweater adorned with a matcha chai latte stain in the shape of foolish love or something like that, yongguk takes one look at him and laughs. it’s a welcome change to the polite nods they give each other in passing, jihoon admits, but also – stop laughing at my misery, yongguk. yongguk just shakes his head and turns back to his laptop.

in jihoon’s defense, he hadn’t seen park woojin until he’d already been headed for the exit, matcha chai latte in his right hand and phone in the other. and maybe he’d tried to sneak a photo of woojin staring out of the window like a true kdrama prince while walking towards the glass door exit, just to prove woojin’s seemingly omnipresent existence to jinyoung. and yes, maybe he’d directed all his attention to zooming into his face without blurring the shot instead of the glass door obstructing his path to freedom.

slam.

at least he hadn’t cursed loudly enough to attract woojin’s attention.

  
2.

donghan never comments on it. jihoon knows he knows because for all the polite interactions yongguk and him have on a daily basis, he’s well aware that yongguk isn’t afraid to sell him out to donghan. it’s okay because donghan appears to think nothing much of it.

that is, until they run into woojin at the library.

it’s inconspicuous enough; or so jihoon thinks. they’re making their way to the last row of tables on the third floor, somewhere wedged inbetween modern medicine and classic biology, when he catches a glimpse of deep red hair in the psychology aisle. he wills himself to dismiss it as one of many red haired individuals roaming the campus, but caves in when he recognizes woojin’s worn letterman jacket. if donghan notices his slowing steps, then he doesn’t say anything about it. (and if jihoon sees the ghost of a smirk forming on donghan’s face, then he doesn’t think anything of it.)

in hindsight, jihoon realizes that he should’ve known better.

the table at the far left end never appears to be occupied when they come to the library on thursdays. jihoon can’t think of any other plausible reasons other than that specific table being haunted by the spirit of a particularly vengeful college student. maybe that’s the reason why his productivity decreases by a significant percentage whenever he attempts to work on his assignments at the library. or maybe it’s just donghan’s presence.

today, it’s woojin’s. donghan shoots him a questioning look when jihoon drops his bag onto his usual chair and turns around to leave. “i saw a good book for my film essay earlier,” jihoon explains. donghan nods dismissively and proceeds to set up his laptop on the space across from jihoon’s. jihoon hopes he doesn’t realize that the film department is located on the fourth floor.

  
in another half-hearted defense of jihoon’s questionable actions, he does actually go up to woojin with the firm intention of talking to him. except that the surge of determination leaves him halfway down the psychology aisle, making space for a growing awareness of the giant logical hole in his plan instead.

so; he goes up to woojin in the middle of the library, taps him on the shoulder. if the best case scenario sets in, woojin turns around and doesn’t knock him out with a book in surprise. jihoon smiles at him politely and says – what, exactly?

“hi, i’m the guy you knocked out with a traffic sign and i think you’re cute. let’s go on a date”?

yeah.

no.

  
this is how jihoon ends up lingering on the other end of the aisle, stealing glances at woojin while aimlessly pulling out books from the shelf in front of him. he’s building the courage to walk up to woojin, is his excuse. the next book he pulls out from another shelf down (another shelf closer to woojin) is titled: “the art of lying” in bold, capital letters. jihoon catches a glimpse of the title while trying to evade woojin’s searching eyes and chuckles to himself. touché.

so maybe he should’ve recognized the tuft of black hair peeking out from behind the row of books on the other side the shelf; taken note of the footsteps following him down the aisle. the scratchy carpet of the library floor swallows all sounds except for untolerated running and the faint thud of heavy boots. the kind that donghan owns, for example. but – jihoon is too caught up in making sure he keeps a safe distance from woojin to notice.

he moves on to the next row just as woojin turns around to face the row of shelves behind him. for a second, jihoon thinks woojin’s eyes might find his so he turns his gaze back to the shelf in front of him, hastily busying himself with browsing through another couple of books. “ _power of habit_ ” he’ll take that, “ _mistakes were made_ ” agreed, “ _emotional intelligence_ ” perfect, since he’s clearly lacking in that department. “ _the (honest) truth about dishonesty”_ looks so pretty, he might actually take it home with him despite his lacking capacity to process any information beyond the reading he has yet to do. he pries it out with his free hand, careful not to disturb the pile of books stacked up on his arm and smiles contentedly when he places it on it on top of the pile without any complications. when he looks back to face the shelf, he’s met with donghan’s face, distorted into an ugly grimace.

“i didn’t think psychology majors were your type.”

jihoon screams and drops his stack of books.

  
(he’s gone before woojin has a chance to turn around.)

  
3.

donghan tells sanggyun who tells kenta who tells taehyun who tells sungwoon. jihoon doesn’t know why he suddenly has a line of seniors with differing degrees of investment in his non-existent love life constantly witnessing his every moment of woojin-related embarrassment, but he figures at the end of the day he’s only got himself (and yongguk) to blame. besides, somebody needs to check in on his constant stupidity anyway. stop him from accidentally walking into traffic, and all.

on friday, sanggyun is three tables away when jihoon turns around mid-walk to catch a glimpse of woojin passing him and runs into a tree in the process. the next week, kenta witnesses a near collision with a cyclist but has the decency to ask him if he’s okay before laughing at him. taehyun catches him deep in thought about the concerning frequency of his coincidental encounters with woojin and pulls him to the side just before he can take an empty leap down a staircase and break his arm or something.

it’s sungwoon who loses his patience first.

to be fair, jihoon does spend a significantly larger amount of time around him than the rest of his guardian angel (not including donghan) line-up. and yes, maybe he’s been zoning out of their conversation every five words or so ever since woojin sat down at the table across from them. he knows he’s being a brat, but woojin is laughing, eyes crinkling into crescent moons and jihoon is _weak_.

“jihoon,” sungwoon says. jihoon nods but continues to steal glances at woojin who has moved on to telling a story of his own, hands moving about animatedly. at one point, his hand hits lee daehwi square in the face. jihoon laughs but quickly slaps his hands over his mouth.

“jihoon,” sungwoon repeats. jihoon busies himself with drowning his flushed face in his caesar salad.  
“jihoonie.” sungwoon throws a small handful of fries at him. only one hits jihoon, just below his eye. jihoon doesn’t budge.

sungwoon sighs.

  
(later that day, he tells jisung.))

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(may)**

in the light of certain events, woojin probably should’ve known better than to lug that traffic barricade with him.

to be fair, it had been daniel’s idea. somewhere down the long road of birthdays, he’d established a tradition of picking up street paraphernalia and wrapping it up nicely – a deep blue street sign for youngmin, two traffic cones for hyunbin, a discarded license plate for daehwi. a traffic barricade for jaehwan, daniel had decided over lunch one day. the ones with the blinking lights. maybe woojin shouldn’t have agreed so enthusiastically.

perhaps that’s why it’s him who receives a text from daniel on the afternoon of jaehwan’s birthday. it’s a simple exchange of words – and maybe woojin could’ve disagreed, pushed it onto somebody else instead. there’s only so many things seongwoo wouldn’t let himself get roped into and stealing street paraphernalia, property of the state, is not one of them he’s sure. but; woojin’s always been a little bit of a rebel, if he dares to call himself that. even if his worst offense so far had been accidentally breaking a wine glass at a restaurant that he’d ended up hiding under the table. on request of his aunt. a whole rebel, indeed.

 

( **niel-hyung [19:02]**  
woojinie

 **woojin [19:03]**  
yes

 **niel-hyung [19:03]**  
about that traffic barricade

_woojin is typing…_

**niel-hyung [19:05]**  
:)

 **woojin [19:05]**  
why can’t you ask sb else hyung

 **niel-hyung [19:05]**  
i saw one by your dorm  
the other day

 **woojin [19:08]**  
you’re a bad influence hyung

 **niel-hyung [19:09]**  
thanks woojinie :D

 _read [19:09]_ )

  
  
the traffic barrier is heavier than he’d expected it to be.

stealing it had been relatively easy – he’d walked up to it, looked to his left, then to his right, and seen nobody around despite it being the middle of the day. then he’d lifted it up, looped it over his arms and made a run for it. (at some point, he’d passed his statistics professor and proceeded to fall into a brief crisis about the probability of him reporting woojin’s misconduct to the police. then he’d nearly run into an unsuspecting pedestrian and realized that perhaps, he should focus his sprawling mind on avoiding another unfortunate street paraphernalia-related accident.)

it’s when he finally reaches jaehwan’s apartment building, that his arms begin to feel the weight of his illegal acquisition. jaehwan had lucked out on his apartment search and hit jackpot by moving in with minhyun on personal recommendation of a friend of a friend of a friend of minhyun, but – the constant state of perfect order in their apartment and the proximity to campus demanded a price. one that woojin currently finds himself being confronted with, head thrown all the way back to catch a glimpse of jaehwan and minhyun’s 8th floor apartment.

  
thank god for elevators.

  
the old lady who exits the building just as woojin is about to enter doesn’t question his unusual cargo. instead, she gives him a polite smile and holds the door open for him. woojin bows slightly but doesn’t dare to meet her eyes as he scurries past her with a quick _thank you very much_.

inside, he’s glad to find the hall void of any other people. he breathes out in relief and finally places the traffic barrier on the ground, hands coming up to massage his sore arms while muttering complaints about daniel and his obscure ideas under his breath, before moving on to complaints about his own stupidity. behind him, the gears of the elevator emit a low sound as it makes it way down to the ground floor.

the red light blinks. woojin pushes himself away from where he’d been leaning against the steel door just before it opens, revealing an empty interior. he thanks the heavens for blessing him with minimal awkward run-ins today, despite his newly acquired status of juvenile delinquent, and hooks his arms under the traffic barrier again before stepping into the elevator.

all is well. the door stay open for another while, the “close door” button blinking invitingly – but woojin resists the urge to push it and rests his weight against the traffic barrier instead. mere seconds pass that he spends thinking about whether daniel had remembered to bring wrapping paper, because he sure hadn’t. the door finally begins to move, whirring quietly as it comes to a close.

then, he hears a loud yell of “hold the door!”.

(in hindsight, woojin realizes he’d jinxed himself by thanking the heavens. it had been too good to believe anyway, and he’d done nothing to deserve such a fortune. maybe it had even be karma for his bad deed. frankly, woojin doesn’t know whether he really hates fate for it that much.)

caught in the surprise of the moment, woojin jabs his fingers into the ‘open door’ button before he has a chance to process his actions. the door comes to a sudden halt mid-close before reversing its direction, making way for a guy just shorter than him who promptly rushes inside and nearly collides with his traffic barrier.

woojin’s eye twitches slightly as a quiet memory springs to life at the back of his mind.

the guy yelps. woojin thinks he’s heard this before. he extends his hand to stabilize the traffic barrier, just in case, and draws the guy’s attention on him in the process.

“thanks,” the guy says, slightly out of breath. he turns around to face woojin, eyes widening when they meet his. woojin doesn’t recognize him, but on account of the universe and its strange ways to confront him about his misdoings, he knows exactly who he’s faced with on this unfortunate friday evening.

“i’m sorry,” woojin blurts out.

  
the guy makes a dash for the door.

  
–

  
on today’s list of new things woojin has learned:

pushing the ‘open door’ button just as the elevator’s gears start turning results in a sudden shutdown of the entire mechanism. whether it’s always been this way for every elevator or it’s just this particular elevator that has possibly seen too many days already, woojin isn’t sure. also, the guy’s name is park jihoon and he’s long forgiven woojin for nearly knocking him out with a traffic sign. he just wishes woojin hadn’t made a run for it after helping him up and yelling out a hasty apology. when woojin makes a silent motion to ask him why he’d tried to run away from him just now, jihoon scratches his head sheepishly and proceeds to shoot finger guns at him.

woojin is starting to like him already.

despite his general bad luck with social situations, woojin had never actually gotten himself stuck in an elevator with a stranger he’d accidentally knocked out with a traffic sign before. he hopes that’s enough of a silent explanation for his lacking knowledge on the appropriate etiquette to turn to in this situation. not that his companion is doing much better; eyes constantly flitting away from woojin’s as if he was trying to avoid him as best as possible in such a small space. not that there’s such a thing as an etiquette for getting stuck in an elevator with a stranger you accidentally knocked out with a traffic sign, anyway.

even if such a thing existed, woojin is pretty sure that placing a stolen traffic barrier between him and jihoon wouldn’t be the way to go about it. he shakes off the slight tingle in his fingers that’s urging him to push it a tiny bit further to the right, just enough to cover jihoon’s vision of him – to ease jihoon’s obvious struggle to evade his eyes, obviously. not because jihoon’s face is a little distracting. woojin doesn’t understand how anyone’s cheeks can be that round.

“so,” jihoon says after a beat of heavy silence that woojin spends capslock texting his distress to daehwi. (“ _hyung where are you we’re waiting_ ” [20:47] “gUESS WHO GOT STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR” [20:53] “ _…how_ ” [20:54] “SEND HELP DAEHWI” [20:54] “ _what did you do_ ” [20:55] “I DIDNT DO ANYTHING” [20:55] “ _sure_ ” [20:55] “I SWEAR IT WASNT ME IT WAS JAHION” [20:56].) woojin startles, head snapping up to hit the wall behind him with a dull thud. jihoon grimaces. woojin barely suppresses a loud yell.

“are you okay?” jihoon questions hesitantly, slowly moving away from where he’d been leaning against the other wall of the elevator and towards woojin. woojin nods vehemently. “i’m fine,” he says and grins reassuringly. uncomfortably, probably. god, he can feel the red growing against his cheeks.

“oh,” jihoon says and drops the hand he’d extended. he settles on the floor in the middle of the elevator and crosses his legs together, head coming to rest on his palm that woojin finds half covered by the fabric of his sleeve. he looks comfortable, woojin thinks, despite his obvious attempt to look at the space right next to woojin’s head instead of looking him in the eyes. it’s better that way anyway – his limbs feel stiff enough as it is, head ringing with quiet alarms notifying him of the awkwardness of the situation. yeah, thank you internal alarms. he’s aware.

“so,” jihoon starts again. “strange hobby?"

what, woojin thinks.

and then – ah. the traffic barrier.

he laughs, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck sheepishly. “it’s a birthday present.” when jihoon only raises his eyebrow in response, he quickly tacks on a rushed “it wasn’t my idea, it was daniel-hyung’s.”

jihoon’s face up lights up recognition. “kang daniel?” he asks, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “yeah,” woojin answers, “you know him too?”

“he’s a friend of mine, yes,” jihoon says and then giggles, hand coming up to cover his mouth, “no need to explain then, daniel-hyung seems like the type to think of things like this.”

woojin’s mind is still lingering on the giggle. giggle. who giggles these days? why does park jihoon look like a fairy, in his pink turtleneck sweater? what kind of horrendous monster knocks out fairies with a traffic sign? woojin is momentarily disgusted at his actions.

“i take it, he’s also the reason you were walking around with a stop sign then?” jihoon asks, startling woojin out of his unconscious replay of jihoon’s giggle. woojin blinks silently before nodding his head.

“y-yeah,” he stutters out, “it was a birthday present. and sorry about that again.”

jihoon laughs again, a quick but sweet sound, before shaking his head. “stop apologizing, it was a funny experience.” woojin begs to disagree, but keeps his mouth shut. “and you said it was a birthday present? happy belated birthday, then!” jihoon smiles, eyes meeting his for the first time. woojin almost looks away.

“uhm, thank you. my birthday was in november, though,” woojin answers hesitantly. the alarm in his head goes off. wee-woo-wee-woo. yes woojin, jihoon knows, it tells him. way to go.

“oh,” jihoon says. his eyes flit away from woojin’s to fixate on the wall next to his head, slight smile dropping from his features. woojin wishes he could whack himself with a traffic sign.  
  
perhaps it’s a stroke of luck amidst this train wreck of a situation, or perhaps it’s just the universe’s way of apologizing to jihoon on behalf of woojin and his general ineptitude – but it is in this moment, just as woojin feels the conversation plunging into an uncomfortable silence, that the elevator springs back into motion. woojin breathes a sigh of relief that he finds mirrored in the drop of jihoon’s shoulders, the way his eyes find his again.

“cool,” jihoon says, visibly relieved. he smiles again, eyes crinkling upwards the tiniest bit. woojin nods his head silently. maybe you should say something, he thinks. his mouth opens, mind scrambling for an appropriate response that doesn’t comprise of him repeating the word “cool” back to jihoon, because that really wouldn’t be cool at all. out of the corner of his eye, he sees a red ‘6’ blinking against the black of the display as the elevator comes to a halt.

“this is my stop,” jihoon says, cutting short woojin’s scrambled line of thought. he rises to his feet, leaving woojin to sit on the ground by himself. wait, woojin wants to say but doesn’t. jihoon steps out of the elevator with an offhand wave in woojin’s direction. then, just as woojin lets his head loll back against the wall of the elevator, jihoon turns around and says:

“take care.”

wink.

  
woojin gapes.  
(he tries to ignore the faint fluttering in his heart.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(july)**

jihoon is as obnoxious and rowdy as he is talented at letting the entire campus fall for his angelic looks. woojin doesn’t quite understand. then again, he thinks as he watches jihoon brandishing his controller, sleeves of his sweater slipping over his hands, it wasn’t long ago that he heard jihoon giggle in his pink turtleneck sweater and declared him a being from the magical realm of fairies. hypocrite.

“you’re such a loser, woojin,” jihoon sighs and lets himself drop into a lying position on the ground. he chucks the controller onto his bed, narrowly missing the bedpost. woojin scowls.

this jihoon, he knows, despite being clad in the same attire as on said faithful day, light blonde hair surrounding his head like a halo against the dark blue of his carpet, couldn’t be any less of a fairy with a tinkling laugh. woojin kicks his foot in the general direction of jihoon’s face in retaliation. jihoon slaps it away with his hand, a faint giggle escaping his lips.

so perhaps the tinkling laugh still holds true.

here’s a fact:

there’s a number of things woojin had expected jihoon to be. confident, despite his refusal to meet woojin’s eyes when they’d first met. not loud but something bordering on it – sociable, maybe. in the pretty way, too, whatever that entails. he remembers the way daehwi had laughed when woojin had told him about his fateful encounter; winked at woojin and asked him if jihoon had done the same – laughed again when woojin had nodded, dumbfounded, and called out to bae jinyoung because “jihoon hyung is like that, isn’t he?” and bae jinyoung had rolled his eyes and said yes and woojin had decided, then and there, that jihoon would never be his friend. a pretty stranger, perhaps, a funny acquaintance; the kind that he could claim to have met when they come up in casual conversation, like some kind of idol because jihoon held himself exactly like that – but that was that.

this jihoon, woojin has decided, needs to shut up; please and thank you. “jihoon-ah,” he calls out, voice dripping with honey because he knows what jihoon can’t ignore. and then, for good measure, he lets his lips stretch into a disgustingly sweet smile and flops his upper body down the bed so that his face hovers merely a few centimeters away from jihoon’s. the latter finally takes his eyes off his phone to look up at woojin with wide eyes, freezing when he becomes aware of their proximity. he blinks, once, twice; a motion that woojin finds himself mirroring unconsciously; before murmuring a faint “what?”. woojin swears he hears jihoon’s breath hitch.

“shut up.”

then he pushes a pillow into jihoon’s face.

 

amidst futile attempts to strangle each other with rilakkuma pillows and the occasional object thrown in the general direction of any body part sensitive enough to elicit a solid “ouch”, woojin finds that jihoon and him get along just fine.

(just fine is this:

jihoon picks him up at the bus stop on a rainy thursday afternoon. he doesn’t have a car, nor an umbrella – just a tattered 7/11 plastic bag that he holds out to woojin with an apologetic smile on his face. his hair is dripping wet, the scarf that he’d haphazardly thrown around his neck almost brushing the sidewalk. “you didn’t have to,” woojin says and lifts up the longer end of the scarf to wrap it around jihoon’s neck. jihoon shakes his head, sending droplets of rainwater spraying across woojin’s face. “you sounded lonely,” he says and pushes the plastic bag into woojin’s hands. woojin makes a move to hand it back to jihoon but the latter takes ahold of his wrist instead, turning on his heel to forcefully drag woojin along with him in the direction of his dorm.

woojin suddenly doesn’t mind the rain anymore.

  
and this:

jihoon’s laugh cuts through the music and the loud chatter of the party like a knife. it’s a sharp sound, much unlike the tinkle of pink turtleneck sweater giggles that run through woojin’s head sometimes when he drifts off in class, but it’s familiar nonetheless – a ringing reminder of all the times jihoon has called woojin an idiot (for running away at the sight of a bee, for leaving behind the cartilage when eating chicken – always fondly, though; because woojin knows that no matter how much bite jihoon forces into his words, his laugh, he can never wash out the tinge of fondness), all the times jihoon and him have playfully fought each other like two rowdy children on the playground. tonight, woojin might even dare to call it his safety ring (although he’d never admit it to jihoon), a tangible sound to hold on to just before jihoon comes into sight as he pushes his way through the small crowd in front of woojin.

“there you are!” jihoon exclaims, voice booming louder than woojin has ever heard it outside the safety of jihoon’s apartment, the slightest hint of tipsiness blurring the edges of his words. “why did you leave, silly?”

woojin blinks silently; a strange comfort settling in his heart at jihoon’s _silly_ , the earnest look in his wide eyes. and perhaps, woojin thinks, he should feel belittled – like he isn’t only a few months younger than the other; like he can’t hold his own despite being a grown adult. but the with way it falls off jihoon lips, like a silent giggle, it isn’t so much reprimanding as it is reassuring; a quiet _it’s okay, woojin_.

i understand, woojin. take all the time you need, woojin.

“i’m sorry i disappeared so suddenly,” jihoon says, when woojin doesn’t answer. he pulls woojin up and pushes him in the direction of the crowd, hands placed firmly on his back. when woojin hesitates to take a step further, eyes flitting back to safety of the bench he’d confined himself too, jihoon takes his hand and places it in his own instead, fingers wrapping around it loosely. “don’t worry,” he says and laughs; a softer sound this time, “i won’t leave you alone again.”

woojin feels his heart flutter. for a second he thinks, maybe he shouldn’t let himself become dependent on jihoon – count on him to always be one step in front of him, woojin’s hand in his to guide him through the big bad world. but when jihoon turns to check on him, eyes twinkling with mirth and something akin to the silly he’d used to refer to woojin earlier, he decides that maybe, this isn’t so bad.

he’ll worry about it another time.

 

here’s a fact:

seoul is so empty. but with jihoon by his side as they stroll along the han river, crescent moon floating next to them on tv-static waves; through parts of the city woojin has never been to (never bothered to venture out to, because seoul is so empty and the more time he spends amongst buildings that reach higher than the clouds above his head, the more he thinks that perhaps, he should’ve contented himself with the blue skies of busan, the stars guiding his way home every night) seoul feels a little fuller; a little warmer. a little like his stomach after a good meal (“i’m a broke college remember jihoon, i don’t have the money to indulge your foodie habits.” “look, we can split your bill.” “you sure about that?” “yeah!” “fine–.” _only because i can’t deny you anything, park jihoon_ ); his hands that are buried in jihoon’s obnoxiously yellow winter coat as they stand at the bus stop, the display blinking overhead in orange letters – delays to be expected due to a road block.

(looking at the cars passing by in a flurry of white and red lights, a quiet thought invades woojin mind – a sentiment he hasn’t forgotten but buried; tonight, with jihoon by his side and his full stomach and warm hands in jihoon’s coat –

 _by all means_ , woojin recalls, _he knows it too_ : the faintly expanding excitement in his chest as he stands amidst busy streets and feels his pulse racing along, the fluttering of new chances against his ribcage;

but.

  
jihoon is so close. and woojin suddenly isn’t so sure whether it is new chances that are fluttering against his ribcage.)

  
–

  
when woojin tells daehwi and jinyoung to _get a room you two, some people are actually trying to study_ and daehwi finally removes his face from the crook of jinyoung’s neck to say: “you’re one to talk”, woojin doesn’t hesitate to retort that jihoon and him aren’t dating.

“jihoon and i aren’t together,” is what he says, actually; and then, without a second thought, he adds: “i don’t like jihoon that way.”

the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

jihoon returns a beat later. “did anything happen?” he asks because daehwi and jinyoung are staring at woojin and woojin is staring back at them, unable to locate the conviction that had driven the words out of his mouth a moment ago. when woojin begins to blink rapidly, daehwi finally turns to jihoon to assure him that everything’s okay.

“it’s nothing,” daehwi says with feigned nonchalance and lets his head drop back onto jinyoung’s shoulder. woojin feels the tension snap, like a row of curtains falling shut in his mind. i don’t like jihoon that way, he thinks. jihoon raises his eyebrow at daehwi but settles down on the chair next to woojin anyway. he doesn’t like jihoon that way.

“are you sure? woojin looks pretty dazed,” jihoon asks and presses his palm against woojin’s forehead, amusement evident in his eyes. woojin feels the blood rushing into his cheeks.

“i –,” he begins. _don’t like you that way_. he shakes his head, as if to shake off jihoon’s hand still resting on his forehead. then he pushes his chair back and stuffs his books into his bag.

“i need to leave, practice starts soon.” he hoists his bag onto his shoulder and walks away hastily. “see you guys tomorrow.”

“wait!” jihoon calls after him, chair screeching against the wooden floor.

woojin doesn’t turn around.

  
(and because third time’s a charm, or something like that; here’s another fact:

when woojin wakes from his short midday nap, it’s to a barrage of messages from his dance crew groupchat. “i fell asleep, anything important?” he texts, because he can’t be bothered to scroll through the 364 messages that are still loading. “practice is cancelled” daniel answers, two voice messages later that woojin doesn’t dare to listen to with hyungseob sound asleep across the room.

“oh nice thanks” woojin texts back. he tosses his phone to the side and lets himself flop back onto his bed.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(sep)**

as a self-proclaimed closet romantic, jihoon considers himself to have a fleeting heart and a mind that runs at an average of three possible scenarios per minute. this minute’s first scenario sees woojin being madly in love with him. the second one sees jihoon falling out of love with woojin this instant, because wouldn’t that be convenient. the third one crosses his mind just as woojin’s hands suddenly leave his waist to push him away. how about this, it tells him: woojin secretly hates you.

jihoon doesn’t quite understand.

“what was that for?” he asks anyway, because woojin has been seeking his warmth just to push him away moments later for weeks now and it’s getting on jihoon’s love-struck nerves. woojin crosses his arms in front of his chest like a petulant child. “nothing,” he huffs, suddenly defensive, “i was cold and then i wasn’t cold anymore.”

jihoon swears he sees a tinge of red coloring the tips of his ears.

 

woojin is loud in ways jihoon hadn’t anticipated. it begins with a plethora of strange sound effects that find their way out of woojin’s mouth whenever they’re together; high pitched screeching and crashing noises and one particular sound that carries an uncanny resemblance to thomas the tank engine. jihoon doesn’t know how he does it, but he’s undeniably endeared.

then, as jihoon sees the subtle remnants of hesitation melting away from woojin, it is his exuberant movements that catch jihoon off-guard at times; his childishly comedic approach to entertainment that has jihoon laughing until his sides hurts. by all means, he’s has always known that there’s more to woojin than hesitation and jumbled words and explosive bursts of confidence when he dances – but seeing it up close, wide, snaggletoothed grin directed right him;

jihoon will never tire of it.

now, four months down the road, it is woojin’s simple invitation to one of his friend’s parties that has jihoon blinking at him in quiet surprise. it isn’t that he’s never crossed paths with woojin’s friend, it’s just –

“a small get-together, not really a party per se,” woojin corrects. jihoon nods his head vehemently in an attempt to mask his surprise. “yeah! of course i’ll come,” he affirms, “it’s just–“

that this suddenly seems incredibly intimate. woojin, as far as jihoon knows, holds his closest friends dear to his heart – refers to youngmin and donghyun as if they were his brothers; daehwi, too, despite their constant bickering. fond, fonder, the softness that curves around woojin’s eyes whenever he talks about them; even when his words are brash, voice lined with exasperation. jihoon is a little jealous. scared, too, maybe. more than a little.

  
  
for all the ease jihoon finds in being amongst strangers whose eyes light up in fleeting recognition when he smiles at them; the way his thoughts blur in loud spaces with loud people that have little interest in searching the crevices of his heart for secrets he has never dared to let slip past his rosy lips; there’s an inexplicable weight that settles on his chest at the thought of intimacy. and yes, maybe he’s exaggerating a little – no one’s out to uncover the secrets of his heart, and intimacy is really just a living room with a carpet unlike the dark blue one that covers his bedroom floor and a lack of music that he finds replaced with lighthearted chatter instead; an easy sense of comfort floating in the air but not inside his ribcage.

no one’s out to uncover the secrets of his heart; but here’s one anyway:  
the supposed inexplicability of the weight that has him glued to the dusty cream carpet, hands picking at the skin around his nails – that’s an exaggeration too. really, it doesn’t take much to see that it is a faint sense of intrusion that gnaws at his confidence; paints dark clouds over the clear words ready to tumble out of his mouth. you don’t belong, jihoon, it speaks to him; the ghost of a voice that never existed outside the spaces of his mind. frankly, it isn’t very loud – barely a nuisance on good days when jihoon finds it in him to put on a glazed smile and make meaningless comments that are carried away by the current of conversation, drown in boisterous laughter that jihoon doesn’t hesitate to join in on, because laughter; that he can do without hesitation – but today, it won’t leave him alone.

how the tables have turned, jihoon thinks – woojin is sprawled out on the ground, words spilling out of his mouth like the currents that carry jihoon’s occasional burst of laughter; pool in the not so deep crevices of jihoon’s dusty heart. and because jihoon isn’t nearly drunk enough to wax poetic, here’s what that means:

woojin looks unbelievably comfortable, worlds away from the woojin he’d taken to usher out of quiet corners, rough but warm hands engulfed in his. and jihoon – he’s unbelievably fond. unbelievably fond because he feels a lazy warmth wrapping around his heart at the sound of woojin’s careless laughter, the way youngmin scowls at one of his comments but ruffles his hair in passing anyway. unbelievably fond because he feels a small smile playing along the corners of his lips at the sight of woojin sticking out his tongue at seongwoo in response to one of his teasing complaints about the volume of woojin’s voice. unbelievably fond, yes, certainly – and the slightest hint of bitter.

and because woojin loves jihoon so much (because woojin is an attentive and caring person, jihoon’s rationale provides), he notices. and promptly kicks his foot against jihoon’s shin.

“ow!” jihoon exclaims, rubbing at his shin even though he barely felt anything. “what was that for?”

woojin rolls himself across the carpet before stopping right in front jihoon. “hi,” he says and lifts up his head to let it drop back on jihoon’s lap. he looks up, wide eyes meeting jihoon’s. “hi,” he says again, quieter this time.

jihoon’s brain goes blank.

“what do you want,” he asks after taking a swig of his beer in the quiet hopes of masking the redness that’s beginning to creep up his neck. his words are harsher than he’d intended for them to be, so he lightly flicks woojin’s forehead to soften his words. mild violence is playful banter. bitter words are not.

woojin makes a face, hand swatting at jihoon’s. then, his expression softens again. “talk to me,” woojin says, barely a demand, except that his eyes are wide and earnest and jihoon suddenly feels like he has to.

“your friends are nice,” jihoon comments intelligently, because that’s the only thing he can say. your friends are nice and i hope they think i’m nice, too. i hope you think i’m nice too, woojin. he doesn’t dare think any further than that.

“they are,” woojin responds. he begins to poke at jihoon’s leg absentmindedly. “you’re nice too, jihoonie,” he adds softly. jihoon doesn’t find it in him to slap away woojin’s hand. “my friends think so too.”

then, just as jihoon makes a decision to momentarily excuse himself to the kitchen to get another drink, woojin reaches for his hand and takes it in his. this is unusual, jihoon thinks, because he’s never felt woojin’s hand engulf his. woojin doesn’t say anything, but draws their joined hands to his chest. he smiles at jihoon, eyes crinkling into crescent moons when they finally find the other’s again.

maybe, i could get used to this, jihoon thinks.  

(but maybe he shouldn’t.)

 

aside from the strange sound effects and the exuberant movements, there’s other ways in which woojin is loud. yes, his voice rings far into the room – drowns out the quieter chatter on the other side of the coffee table; whatever heated discussion minhyun and seongwoo appear to be having on the couch across from them. or perhaps it’s simply because woojin is so close to him, thigh pressed against his, hand still toying with jihoon’s absentmindedly.

or – maybe it’s jihoon; the way his eyes return to woojin’s figure again and again, no matter how hard he tries to let them wander. maybe he’s blocking everything else out because love does stupid things to you and selective hearing doesn’t seem so far-fetched, does it now. jihoon doesn’t know.

what he does know is this:  
there’s the strange sound effects and the exuberant movements. there’s several attempts to pull jihoon into the conversation; a few – _oh jihoon’s done that, too, youngmin-hyung!_ s and _don’t you think so too, jihoonie?_ s that woojin follows up with ridiculous pouts and jihoon meets with a half-hearted jabs of his elbow into woojin’s side. it’s a rocky start, but it works eventually. and yes, he does agree; but he begs to differ, youngmin-hyung, cheese has no place on chocolate patties. look, minhyun-hyung thinks so too. if you won’t listen to me you at least have to listen to minhyun-hyung.

then, there’s also woojin. and there’s always been woojin, sure, but this is his proximity – the way he drapes himself over jihoon instead of sitting back down next to him, chin digging into his shoulder, hair tickling the side of jihoon’s face. that’s loud too – loud because every time woojin moves, jihoon feels his heart hammering against his chest a little more. if woojin comes any closer, he thinks, he’ll be able to hear it. jihoon doesn’t find it in him to shake him off.

(when jihoon finally excuses himself to the kitchen, woojin whines and tightens his hold around him. “woojin,” he says exasperatedly, even though he knows that his eyes tell a different story, “let me go.”

“no,” woojin huffs. jihoon attempts to stand up but woojin’s weight drags him back down again, sending him crashing halfway into the couch that holds daehwi, jinyoung and half of donghyun.

“woojin,” he repeats.

“fine.”

when jihoon returns with a glass of water and a handful of chips in his other hand, woojin is quick to wrap his arm around jihoon’s waist, hand coming up to steal a couple of his chips. when jihoon moves to a free space on the couch, woojin follows and balances himself on the sloping armrest, hand gripping at jihoon’s sleeve to stabilize himself. jihoon doesn’t know how his heart does it, but it hasn’t burst out of his chest yet.)

  
–

jihoon won’t blame youngmin, but he’s tempted to. except that youngmin is an angel and could never hurt a fly, so jihoon will blame himself instead. he should’ve seen it coming, anyway.

  
the beginning of the end, because jihoon considers himself a closet romantic and this is the time to wax poetic, goes like this:

in the midst of a benign conversation about recent movie releases, jihoon remembers an idea woojin and him had thrown around a while ago. “i haven’t watched the new thor movie yet,” woojin says. “that’s because you ditched us,” donghyun responds. when woojin protests, arguing that he’d been caught up in schoolwork, donghyun laughs and ruffles his hair. “we know, woojinie.”

this is where jihoon will mercilessly blame himself. “weren’t we going to watch it together?” he says after digging out a faint memory from a week ago. “right!” woojin responds after a split second. he points his finger at jihoon from where he’s leaning against the doorframe. “you were going to check the schedule, have you done that yet?”

and here’s where jihoon would blame youngmin if youngmin wasn’t an absolute angel. “ooh,” he says in a tone that is as suggestive as it is entirely unfitting to hear from im youngmin, “so like a date, huh?”  
he wiggles his eyebrows for added effect which earns him a light slap on the shoulder from donghyun. jihoon is grateful. he’s also feeling inexplicably bold.

ultimately, this is where youngmin’s weight in the becoming of this mishap dissipates entirely. because jihoon could’ve just kept his mouth shut. or perhaps, he could’ve just laughed it off; woojin and i are friends, what are you saying. maybe that is what woojin would’ve wanted.

but because he’s feeling bold tonight, heart full with the slow comfort of having found a small place for himself, woojin’s close warmth that still lingers despite him being all the way across the room (a tiny surge of hope), he doesn’t.

instead, he says: “sure.”

“you’re bringing the flowers, though, woojin. roses are my favorite.” he adds a small wink, for good measure. maybe he should’ve stopped right there.

youngmin laughs. daehwi and jinyoung follow suit, eyes flitting over to woojin in anticipation. jihoon’s eyes don’t move because he’s been looking at woojin the entire time, heart pounding in his chest that suddenly feels too heavy.

but woojin is silent.  

  
(when woojin bids him goodbye ten minutes later because jihoon has suddenly realized that he needs to leave, the air is charged with discomfort. jihoon doesn’t even say goodbye at first. he pulls on his shoes quickly and thanks youngmin and donghyun for their hospitality before waving to the others. jinyoung reaches out to him as if to ask him if he’s okay, but jihoon shakes his head.

perhaps it is an attempt to salvage the situation, but to jihoon’s dismay, daehwi grabs his arm just as he’s about to close the door behind him. “hyung,” he says. it’s not directed at him, but at woojin. “aren’t you going to walk jihoon home for a bit?”

woojin shakes his head and clings to daehwi instead. “it’s cold,” he murmurs, eyes downcast. jihoon lightly shakes off daehwi’s hand and moves to close the door again. “it’s okay,” he says, more to daehwi than to woojin. “thank you anyway.”

“see you on monday,” woojin calls, a beat late.

“see you,” jihoon responds quietly.

  
he doesn’t.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(nov)**

when woojin comes home to find the stop sign dangling precariously from the ceiling light, he’s more impressed than surprised. “how’d you get that up there?” he asks, uncaring of how he clearly just interrupted hyungseob’s carefully scripted performance. hyungseob, who’s positioned himself on an office chair right under the stop sign (woojin wonders if that’s a good idea), ignores him.

“happy birthday again,” he says instead, tone uncharacteristically serious, “welcome to your intervention.”

he pauses and glances at the wardrobe to his right. woojin stands silently, waiting for something to happen, but nothing comes.

“welcome to your intervention,” hyungseob repeats, putting more pressure on the “intervention” this time. when the door of the wardrobe doesn’t budge, he sighs and rips it open to reveal youngmin, donghyun and daehwi who promptly topple down to the ground. youngmin has the audacity to look ashamed. “i was roped into this,” he laments. daehwi and donghyun only smile and wave at him.

woojin sighs and tosses his bag to the ground. “i’m too tired for this,” he murmurs and flops himself onto his bed. hyungseob, who appears to have prepared himself for this very scenario, swirls around in his office chair to face woojin.

“hey,” he says. when woojin doesn’t budge, he forcefully rips the pillow from where woojin had burrowed his face into it. “we’re doing this for your own good, idiot,” hyungseob adds and promptly smacks woojin with the pillow. for a split second, woojin is reminded of someone else.

“fine,” he sighs and removes his face from the mattress. “entertain me.”

  
as with every proper intervention, or so hyungseob claims, woojin must sit on the office chair in the middle of the room so that the feeling of mild embarrassment takes its full effect. in reality, the constellation of people, which now sees daehwi, youngmin and donghyun standing around him in a half circle with hyungseob at their center, allows any pressure that had previously rested on woojin to plunge into the negatives. mainly because daehwi and donghyun keep giggling. youngmin looks like he’d rather be staring unproductively at his screen than be present at this intervention. woojin relates.

“you probably already know why we’ve gathered on this fine day,” hyungseob starts, once all the standing and/or sitting arrangements are settled, “but just to make to make sure –“ he steps closer to woojin and points at the stop sign dangling above woojin’s head,

“– stop. avoiding. jihoon.”

he gives the stop sign a small push for added emphasis. the ceiling light emits a faint creaking sound. woojin wonders if he should have an ambulance on speed dial.

  
the rest of the intervention goes down like this:

“i’m not avoiding jihoon,” is what woojin wants to say, but doesn’t because it’s a blatant lie and everyone, including his statistics professor, knows. so he settles for saying nothing instead. maybe if he refuses to cooperate for long enough, they’ll finally leave him alone.

they don’t. for five minutes, hyungseob and daehwi alternate in poking at him to try and get a response out of him. then, youngmin, much to his own dismay as the pained look in his eyes reveals, attempts to half-heartedly guilt trip woojin into talking to them. when that doesn’t work, donghyun brings out the big guns (his motherly voice).

“woojin-ah,” he says softly, “we understand that you’re scared, but hurting jihoon isn’t the way to solve this.”

woojin finally gives in.

it is quickly established that woojin cannot name any specific reasons for his irrational behavior. he’s scared, but everyone knows that already. only people who are scared or absolute assholes act the way woojin does. perhaps he’s both. (daehwi slaps his shoulder lightly when woojin voices out his thoughts. “you’re not an asshole, hyung,” he says, “but you better get your shit together now.” woojin feels strangely motivated to do better.)

when fifteen minutes pass without any significant progress, except that woojin has finally managed to wheel himself away and to the safety of his own desk, hyungseob promptly rises from where he’d been sitting against the frame of his bed and claps his hands loudly.

“that’s it!” he calls, startling youngmin, donghyun and daehwi out of their quiet conversation. “i think we need to let you figure it out,” he sighs, “on your own.”

the sigh is overly dramatic. theatrics aren’t uncommon with hyungseob, but the way that youngmin, daehwi and donghyun don’t look the slightest bit fazed when hyungseob promptly ushers them in the direction of the door has alarms ringing in woojin’s head. besides, he swears he can see hyungseob trying hard to suppress a grin.

when hyungseob grabs a jacket and follows the others out of the door, woojin knows his concerns have been confirmed. “where are you going?” woojin asks anyway because he wants to know what bullshit excuse hyungseob is going to come up with. hyungseob only turns around and winks.

then, he steps to the side to reveal a figure just shorter than him.

  
–

  
jihoon, to woojin’s dismay, is clad in his favorite pink turtleneck sweater. whether it is jihoon’s favorite or woojin’s favorite; he isn’t sure. what he’s sure of is that jihoon looks unbelievably soft and woojin is suddenly unbelievably unable to flee the scene before hyungseob shuts the door and inevitably locks it behind him.

“happy birthday,” jihoon says quietly and waves, sleeves of his sweater slipping over his hand. out of the corner of his eye, woojin catches hyungseob holding something up at him, before finally closing the door. it’s woojin’s keys. touché, woojin thinks. as expected, the lock turns a second later, sealing his fate with a loud clicking sound.

jihoon looks startled.

“that wasn’t planned?” woojin asks, surprised. he had expected jihoon to have given the green light to this entire operation, but jihoon shakes his head.

“i didn’t think that would be necessary,” he responds and takes a couple of careful steps into the room. “you’re not planning on running away from me again, are you?”

jihoon is smiling, but something about the way he says it makes woojin’s heart ache. “n-no,” he stutters out, suddenly unsure. then, he blurts out “i’m sorry.”

jihoon smiles again and shakes his head slightly. “what’s that about?” he ignores woojin’s apology and points at the stop sign instead. woojin doesn’t know what to say.

“no trespassing into your heart?” jihoon asks, giggling slightly at his own words. it’s as familiar of a sound as it is uncomfortable, hurt evident in the way it cuts off in the middle. it sounds forced, like jihoon is trying hard to keep the atmosphere light.

 _woojin_ , he mentally urges himself, _say something_.

suddenly, as if jihoon has had an abrupt change of heart, the peaceful look on his face drops. “you know,” he says, eyebrows furrowing in irritation, “i’d really love to hit you with that stop sign right now.”

jihoon sounds mildly threatening. for a second, woojin thinks he’s going to pull the chair out from underneath him and use it to detach the stop sign from the ceiling lamp, but instead he just stomps to the nearest bed (woojin’s), picks up his pillow and smacks woojin in the face.

“i hate you!” he exclaims, more a statement than anything. then, he drops the pillow and exhales audibly. “that felt good to say.”

woojin blinks. jihoon’s sudden burst of emotions is something he’s never witnessed before. frankly, it’s a little concerning – but woojin figures he hadn’t been any better when he’d decided that avoiding jihoon in response to a joke about going on a date was a good idea. and because woojin doesn’t learn and bad ideas seem to be ingrained into his system, what tumbles out of his mouth next isn’t another overdue apology.

“so you don’t hate me?”

woojin wants to slap himself. bang his head against the stop sign. maybe he’ll take the ceiling light down with him if he’s lucky. one and a half months of stiff silence on his side, fast steps in the other direction whenever he’d spot jihoon in the crowd, and woojin has the audacity to make this about himself.

jihoon looks unfazed. he shakes his head again, the same movement he’s been doing at every single one of woojin’s stupid actions, the same smile; like he’s exasperated but too fond to be truly bothered by it. “i could never hate you, silly.”

woojin feels his heart swell. jihoon loves him _so much_ , he realizes then – and yes, he’s always known that jihoon must care about him a lot, because behind the sharp words and pillows to his face, jihoon’s always been nothing but gentle to him – but today, under the light that pours over the stop sign and sends shadows spilling over jihoon’s cheeks; here, on woojin’s birthday, standing on his dark blue carpet that forms a striking contrast against the yellow of jihoon’s socks, light pink dusting his cheeks, woojin finally understand what it means.

and woojin –

he loves jihoon too.

he’s just scared.

“i’m scared,” he says. jihoon nods, but he looks more surprised than woojin had expected for him to be.

“oh,” he answers. he pauses and settles on the edge of woojin’s bed. “why?”

why. woojin isn’t so sure either.

“you know,” he starts slowly, “you’re such a bright person.”

“and sometimes i feel like i cling to you too much.” that sounds about right, he thinks. “you’ve done so much for me and i’m so grateful for that, but you’re so out there and i’m not and i’m scared i’ll have to cling to you forever.”

his voice grows quieter towards the end of the sentence. he doesn’t want to take it back, but when jihoon doesn’t say anything and just fixates him with an indecipherable look, woojin thinks that maybe, he should have just stuck to his uncertainty.

woojin blinks. say something, he thinks. jihoon blinks, a mirror image of woojin.

then, he laughs. loud and sharp, like this is the funniest thing he’s heard today; like woojin didn’t just bare his insecurities in front of him.

“idiot,” jihoon manages to get out amidst his subsiding laughter, “and here i thought you were going to reject me.”  

woojin is mildly offended. “so you’re not going to say anything about, you know, what i just said?” he huffs, eyebrows furrowing. jihoon grins at him and promptly springs up from his bed to grab woojin by his hands and pull him up.

“idiot,” he says again and messes up woojin’s hair, “of course i’m going to say something about it. because i agree.”

ouch, woojin thinks.

“not like that, silly,” jihoon says and taps his cheek lightly, “you’re great and you’re fine without me. more than fine, even. you’re too hard on yourself, but you know that already don’t you?”

woojin nods dumbly. “what’s with the laughter then?” he asks, because jihoon is grinning widely at him and woojin still doesn’t understand what’s so amusing about this.

“i agree because i think so, too,” jihoon says, “that i cling to you too much, i mean.”

woojin raises his head to respond with a nod but stops himself. what, he thinks.

“what,” he says.

“look! believe it or not but i don’t know how to talk to people and sometimes i’ll sit somewhere for an hour without saying anything because i don’t know what to say and i don’t think anyone ever cared before but then you came along and took my stupid hand and i know you were drunk but thank you so much.” jihoon exhales loudly. when woojin opens his mouth to say something, jihoon holds up his finger and presses it against his lips. “shush, i’m not done yet.”

“anyway and then i thought, maybe i don’t actually like you. maybe i just like the way you treat me and it’s just my stupid heart telling me to fall for everyone who’s ever been nice to me but then i remembered how i stalked you on instagram after daehwi told me you were the guy who almost knocked me out with a street sign and then proceeded to stare at you every time i’d see you on campus and then i saw you dance somewhere and anyway, i clearly like you because you’re fucking hot.”

woojin blinks silently, overwhelmed by the barrage of words. he doesn’t think he quite understands.

“you think i’m hot?” he asks, because that’s the only information his brain has processed so far.

jihoon nods. “i can’t believe _that’s_ what you want to talk about, but yeah.” he huffs out a short laugh.  
“anyway,” he starts, voice softening, “i’m kidding of course.”

“i like you because you’re a giant idiot.” woojin makes a scandalized expression, but jihoon swats at his face. “a giant, unbelievably kind-hearted, unbelievably talented and unbelievably amazing idiot.”

  
“but most importantly, you’re my giant idiot. if you want to be, that is.”

  
  
(like any sensible person, woojin does the first thing that springs to his mind in this situation:

he makes a gagging motion.

jihoon’s eyes widen. “you asshole!” he shouts, faint laughter ringing in his words. he picks up the pillow he’d thrown back on the bed and proceeds to repeatedly hit woojin with it. “look!” woojin yells, moving his face away to avoid the onslaught of soft, “why did you make it so cringy!”

“i can’t believe this!” smack, “you think that was easy for me to say?!” smack, “at least reject me if you’re going to be like this, asshole!” smack. he’s full on laughing now, the force behind his strikes weakening with each wave of laughter that falls from his lips.

woojin is laughing too, half kneeling on the ground. “stop!” he takes ahold of the pillow just as it’s about to hit him smack in the face and rips it away from jihoon. the latter stands still for a moment, gaping at the sudden empty space in his hands, before dropping to the ground dramatically.

“i’ve been defeated,” he laments. and – oh. how did jihoon’s head end up on his lap. woojin laughs silently, a grin spreading across his face. he pokes at jihoon’s cheek, fully expecting jihoon to protest, but the other reaches for his hand instead and draws it to his chest.

“hi,” jihoon murmurs, wide eyes finding woojin’s. this is familiar, woojin thinks.

“this is familiar,” jihoon says. woojin nods, suddenly unable to form words. he makes a move to free his hand from jihoon’s, but jihoon tightens his grip around it.

“hey,” he tugs at it lightly, drawing woojin’s eyes back on him, “do you trust me, woojinie?”

woojin nods again, an immediate reaction. does he trust jihoon? of course, he thinks. more than he trusts himself, maybe.

jihoon smiles softly. “then give me a chance? give us a chance, i mean.”   

woojin looks at their interlocked hands, the stark contrast between his black shirt and jihoon’s pink sweater, his blonde hair floating against the background of woojin’s black jeans – faintly reminiscent of all the times woojin has felt a lazy warmth wrapping around his heart at the sound of jihoon’s laughter, not unlike the warmth of jihoon’s hand around his.

“okay.”

jihoon’s eyes widen. “really?” he asks, disbelief colouring his voice. woojin doesn’t understand why he’s so unsure.

he nods and smiles, hands carding through jihoon’s hair. fond, fonder, the softness that curves around his eyes whenever he looks at jihoon. he hopes jihoon can see that.

 

“really.”)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(+1 ; dec)**

in a classic kind of (meet) cute situation, woojin finds himself under a mistletoe, hands clutching at jihoon’s shoulders.

it doesn’t go down without a fight – there’s a loud yell from woojin as he stumbles forward, courtesy of somebody (hyungseob) forcefully pushing him under the doorway, a chortled screech on jihoon’s side as he braces himself for the sudden impact. cue both of their heads falling back to find a mistletoe dangling from the doorframe.

“oh,” woojin says.

“oh,” jihoon mirrors.

“yes, oh!” somebody (daehwi) calls from the living room, “now kiss already!”

woojin feels the red creeping up his face. jihoon looks similarly flustered, cheeks a deep pink. fine, woojin thinks. he can do this.

so:

woojin leans in at the same time as jihoon does. it’s a rushed movement, woojin’s eyes fluttering shut because isn’t this how people do it?

there’s no kiss. instead, their noses crash midway. jihoon winces and steps back, hands coming up to cover his face; except his right hand accidentally slaps woojin across the face.

“ouch,” somebody (donghan) in the background hisses.

“ouch,” woojin echoes. jihoon looks mortified. then, he shakes his head, as if to shake off the embarrassment and grabs woojin’s hand to drag him away from the living room.

“let’s try this again, shall we?”

wink.

 

 

  
the rest is history.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize for any inaccuracies and mistakes! and for not mentioning guanlin :(
> 
> thank you to kira for this lovely prompt, thank you to the organizers for allowing us to come together like this, and thank you for reading! ♡


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